


Angels In Verona

by princetteofcats



Category: Angels in America - Kushner, Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Crossover, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Tybalt is an ass, and Mercutio is a sad n bitter babb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princetteofcats/pseuds/princetteofcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had left him when he needed him the most, when he was dying. And still, he went to meet with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels In Verona

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings: Mentions of violence, AIDS/HIV, cursing, possible blasphemy, and angst-driven sadness. Just, y'know, take care if you want to read. It's not very pretty.
> 
> This work is based off of Tony Kushner's play, Angels In America. I have not seen any live or recorded version of this play, and have only read the script, so this is largely based off my own interpretation of the work. I'm also using Budapesti Operettszínház cast as canon, so Zoli!Mercutio and Szil!Tybalt.
> 
> The majority of the dialogue present here is taken directly from the play's script. I have altered bits and pieces, but please note that, for the most part, it's Kushner's words, not mine. I just played with them to suit my own interpretation.
> 
> This work may not make the most sense if you're unfamiliar with Angels in America, as it's based entirely off of one scene that happens later on, in the second half of the play. Just a fair warning.
> 
> This was written for the retj week on Tumblr, and is also the first fic I've posted here, so I hope it's alright~! (Please forgive any errors I've made in posting lay out or anything like that~!)

Mercutio wasn’t entirely sure why he’d agreed to the meeting. It was a stupid decision, really. He hadn’t seen Tybalt in months. That selfish fuck had left him in the hospital, had left him alone when he woke up in cold sweats, puddles of bodily fluids, screaming. He had left him when he needed him the most, when he was fucking dying. Mercutio didn’t owe him anything but a few harsh words and maybe a baseball bat to the kneecaps. And he knew that. But still, he had shown up to the bench, no bat in hand. It struck him as funny that it was the same bench where he had first confessed to Tybalt about his death sentence, had shown him that wine-dark kiss on his inner arm. Funny in a way that made him want to scream.

Tybalt was slumped over, elbows resting on his knees. Mercutio wished that he would have looked awful, that his body might have withered and begun to decay, to betray him as his had done him. But, aside from looking flushed by the cool night air and the look of utter dejection gracing his porcelain features, he looked just as lovely as ever. And Mercutio hated it. He sat on the cold wood with anger, crossing his arms and his legs in one quick, graceful movement and turning his chin away from Tybalt.

“Oh, this is going to be so much worse than I’d even imagined.” The words came quick, sharp. Tybalt stirred quietly; Mercutio could see him turn his body fully so as to face him better. Mercutio did not return the favor.

“I… hello, Mercutio.”

Timid. Tybalt’s tone was so fucking timid and it was pissing him off. Mercutio snapped around, ignoring the jolting ache it sent through his body, glaring at Tybalt with a fierce hatred, “Fuck you, you little shitbag. Fuck you.”

Tybalt was still, voice still quiet, “Don’t… don’t waste your energy trying to beat me up, alright? I’ve got that taken care of.”

Mercutio’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see any bruises.”

“They’re… inside-” Tybalt began, meekly.

“Inside!” Mercutio’s eyebrows rose, eyes widening as he looked up, as if in revelation, and then just as quickly turned a stern glare back to Tybalt, “You are one noble guy. Inside. Don’t fucking flatter yourself, Tybalt.”

A heavy silence fell. Tybalt stared longingly. Mercutio glared, and eventually turned away again, spitting venom as he pointed his chin towards the sky, “It’s your tea party. Talk.”

“It’s good to see you again, Mercutio. I missed you-” the words tumbled, hasty and overbearingly saccharine. Mercutio tensed.

“Fucking talk, Tybalt. It’s cold.”

“I want to make up.”

Silence.

“Make up.” The words were stiff in Mercutio’s mouth. Unpleasant.

“Yes. But-”

“Ahh, but,” these words were easy, quick. They flew from his tongue, bitterness and familiarity warming them.

“But, you don’t have to be so hostile. Don’t I get any points for trying to arrive at a resolution? Maybe what I did isn’t forgivable but-”

“Oh, trust me, my darling prince, it isn’t.”

“But, I’m trying to be responsible. Mercutio,” Tybalt reached out, as if to touch him; Mercutio all but hissed in dismay. Tybalt’s fingers retracted. “There are limitations. Boundaries. And you have to be reasonable.”

Another silence fell. Tybalt, now looking at Mercutio more fully, knit his eyebrows together, a perplexed slant settling in the way he held his jaw. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Mercutio mustered every ounce of his willpower to not leave right then. The thick, black scarf covering his head fluttered slightly in the breeze, the rest of the long, black fabric cloaking his body in the form of coat, shirt, pants mimicking the movement. The deadened look of disbelief present on his face must have clued Tybalt in. He straightened his jaw.

“You were saying something about being reasonable,” Mercutio prompted.

“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, Mercutio. I… yes. Yes, I fucked up, that much is obvious. But… but maybe you fucked up, too.” Mercutio clenched his fists, and Tybalt held his palms up, continuing quickly, words coming rushed and panicked, “You never trusted me, you never gave me a chance to find my footing, not really, you were so quick to attack and, and I think-- I think, maybe just too much of a victim, finally. Passive. Dependent. And what I think is that people have a choice about how they handle--”

Enough. Mercutio had had enough. A solemn, serious look came over his features as he turned, quickly, facing Tybalt head-on. He stopped mid-sentence, caught off guard by the look of such pure anger in his former lover’s eyes. Mercutio’s words came out low, slow, furious. “you’re seeing someone else.”

A heartbeat.

“No I’m not!”

Another heartbeat.

“Liar.”

Silence.

“I… only… occasionally. He’s… he’s just a pick up. I… how do you…?”

Mercutio smirked, unable to help himself. “Threshold of revelation, baby. Now, I want you to ask me how I know he’s a Montague.”

Tybalt stiffened.

“Is he a Montague?” Mercutio practically purred. Tybalt stayed still, as if frozen. Mercutio laughed; a bitter, sickly sound. “Well, goddamn. Ask me how I knew, Tybalt.”

Tybalt was silent, still, but eventually in a low murmur he started, “How did you-”

“FUCK YOU, I’M A PROPHET.”

Tybalt flinched, and Mercutio grinned, wider and wider, laughing in a sort of mad, ugly way that released the build-up of pressure he’d acquired from nights spent alone, in agony, imagining angels and prophecies and destroyed ceilings while Tybalt, fucking Tybalt, this traitor, this absolute fuck, had spent warm, HIV-free nights with some stupid kid in his bed. His withered body grew large, gorged by rage; his voice grew louder with each wave of laughter.

“Reasonable? Limits? Tell that to my lungs, you stupid fuck! Tell it to my lesions, tell it to the cotton-woolly patches on my fucking eyes!”

“Mercutio, I haven’t seen him in days-!” Tybalt pleaded.

“Fuck you. I’m leaving. I have my limits, too.”

Breathless, Mercutio stood, and began to leave. He faltered, though, knees nearly buckling beneath himself. He’d spent too much energy; so much for a fabulous exit. With a pained snarl, he lowered himself back to the bench, clutching at his chest. Why was it so hard to just fucking breathe? He did hiss this time when Tybalt tried to touch him, and Mercutio could see the wet streaks on his cheeks. He jerked away, veiling the pained look on his face with his scarf. Why couldn’t he just breathe-?

“Fuck you. Fuck you, Tybalt. You…,” he stopped, labored to take a few deep, steady breaths. His voice was softer, now, but just as angry, “You cry, but you endanger nothing in yourself. It’s like… it’s like the idea of crying when you do it. Or the idea of love.”

A heavy silence fell. Mercutio could hear the way Tybalt tried to keep his sobbing quiet. Most of the noise came from the way the fabric of his clothes would rustle when his shoulders hitched. The noise died down after a few minutes, and nothing but the sound of the city was left. Mercutio caught his breath, crossed his arms and legs again, straightened his back. With as much disdain as he could muster, he pointed his nose down at Tybalt, arching a brow and keeping his voice low.

“Speaking of that. Love. Your new lover...?”

He didn’t expect an answer. But, Tybalt surprised him. He looked up from his lap, eyes swollen and red. “He… he’s not my…,”

Unamused, Mercutio demanded, “Where’d you meet him?”

“The park. Well, first at… a fight, but…”

“A Montague child, or some servant?”

“Old Montague’s… son.”

Mercutio choked out a dry laugh, “The one Juliet eloped with so many months ago? The one you absolutely hated? That Montague?”

“Yes, that Montague.” Those words held the most resentment of any Tybalt had spoken that night. He was quiet for a moment, then continued reluctantly, “He’s… he’s kind, sincere-”

“Ah, a sincere Montague!! I see how sincere he’s been with Juliet while he’s been fucking you.”

“He’s just for company,” Tybalt spat, desperation and irritation and immense guilt all intermingling in his voice at once. Mercutio could taste the self-loathing radiating off of him, and god it was delicious. Tybalt put his head in his hands, fingers tugging at the roots of his hair. “A companion. Companionship. Nothing more.”

They were both quiet, now. A steady, satisfied grin crossed Mercutio’s face after a while. He tilted his head back, looking at the stars, nodding at them, as if in agreement with some profound bit of wisdom they shared with him.

“Well, thank God for that. How good. I wouldn’t want you to be lonely, after all.” The grin faded slowly, and after a while of Tybalt not responding, so did the anger. A profound sense of melancholy overtook Mercutio, and he lowered his head, shaking it again. His voice came softly, again, a near whisper, “Seriously, Tybalt. Just when I think you can’t say anything, fucking anything to make this worse, you do.”

Mercutio paused. Tybalt didn’t move from cradling his head.

“There are thousands of gay men with AIDS in this city, Tybalt, and nearly all of them have someone to take care of them. Some… some friend, or lover, or someone who has stuck by them, through shit way worse than my…,” Mercutio trailed off, shaking his head and letting a sigh escape his lips, “Everyone’s got that. Except me. Why...? What’s wrong with me…?” He was still for a while. He looked over at Tybalt when he finally looked up. They held each other’s eyes for a long second, and finally, Mercutio tilted his head.

“Tybalt? Are you really bruised inside?”

Tybalt swallowed, throat dry. He nodded, an unsteady, uncomfortable movement. It broke into a shake, and he lowered his head again, “I… I can’t have this talk anymore. ”

“Oh, the list of things you can’t do. So fragile.” Mercutio’s voice was gentle, soft, concerned. The only thing betraying him was his eyes, and the way they looked at Tybalt as if they achieved no greater joy than witnessing his suffering. With the utmost care, Mercutio reached out and cupped Tybalt’s cheek.

“Come back to me when those bruises are visible, Tybalt. I want to see black and blue, I want to see blood. Because I can’t believe you even have blood in your veins until you show it to me.”

Tybalt looked at him with pain and fear in his eyes, a sort of ragged desperation that only fed the betraying, kind smile on Mercutio’s lips. In a faint, benevolent tone, Mercutio continued, “So, Tybalt. My dear prince of cats. Don’t come near me again, ever again, unless you’ve got something to show.”

Mercutio patted Tybalt’s cheek, a bit more firm than might have been kind, and stood, slowly this time. He walked away with long, confident steps, making sure to breathe evenly with each movement. Tybalt did not follow. Mercutio did not falter. And he did not look back.


End file.
